A Story about Love, Betrayal, Trust, and Friends and Other People
by SallyCarefree
Summary: Someone takes care of Neal Caffrey and watches his life from a distance. If needed, named someone will step in to help. But there is guilt involved and betrayal. Ellen's murderer is out there and is now looking for Neal. Fortunately, there are old friends around to provide support. Story complete!
1. Chapter 1

Peter Burke … I'm still not sure if he can be trusted. He's working for the FBI. FBI agents and police officers – there's no big difference between those, if you ask me. But then, taking into account my history with them, I might not be without bias. There are too many corrupt police officers I've met and I have fairly regularly bribed FBI agents and judges. Therefore, I am wondering about Burke's motives.

I don't know if I can trust him enough to give him the evidence about Ellen's murderer. Tonight I'm going to meet him for the first time in person. I'll go with my gut and decide based on the impression he makes on me.

As a matter of course, Neal Caffrey helps Burke improve the closure rate of the Bureau significantly. It might have been the reason for the Federal agent to associate with a convicted felon in the first place. But working together with Neal spells trouble. Most of his plans and ideas are on the verge of lunacy and more often than not fly too close to the sun. In the years he's acted as his handler, Burke has covered up for Caffrey many times, and it must have been a huge effort to keep him out of prison. Why would he do that?

Then again, I would know, wouldn't I? Thinking about all these years I spent rushing after him either to prevent him from doing something stupid or mopping up when I came too late...

When Adler blew up his Ponzi scheme company, he'd left enough traces to put the blame on Neal. Thanks to my skillful persuasion and my husband's money, that false evidence disappeared before it found its way into the FBI's files.

Speaking of my husband, I'm still astonished - but deeply grateful - for the strange twist of fate which helped me to find unquestioning love in my second husband when I was only looking for his money. When on the other side, I married the first time for love, and was deceived and wound up with a completely selfish man.

But I'm wandering off topic - Neal and his mischief.

In the years after the Adler disaster, Neal improved his various criminal talents. Fortunately, most of his actions haven't needed my intervention. Only now and then have I needed to grease up a cop or buy a piece of forgery or stolen art before it had aroused the attention of the FBI.

To do the latter, I had introduced myself as a wealthy client to Mozzie. His paranoia was helpful to convince him to keep the identity of his buyer top secret, even to his best friend. Over the course of the years I've grown quite fond of him. He's weird, but he's always acting in - what he thinks is - Neal's best interest.

Entirely different from Kate. I've never understood what Neal saw in her. There was nothing special about her. With her big bubbly eyes, she made him do all sorts of stupid and foul deeds. I don't think that she ever loved him - but he fell for her completely and wrecked his life in order to please her. And I am not saying this because I'm jealous of her.

If you ask me, Kate is the second worst person who influenced his life. Well, it's obvious who's earned the top rank in the 'worst person in Neal Caffrey's life' contest.

After she left him, it didn't get better. No - he got even more reckless to impress her. Those were tiresome years for me - culminating in the Rafael theft. It was almost too late when Ellen called me and told me about the painting Neal had sent.

I had to bring all my influence as an important client of Sterling Bosch to bear to call Sarah Ellis off. Usually I am very careful in my rescue missions and maintain a low profile. I don't want anyone to link my name with Neal Caffrey. If Neal spotted me or suspected me of getting involved with him once again, well, he would bolt - up and away, probably leaving the country or even the continent. He's very uncompromising and unforgiving when it comes to my betrayal.

And, of course, it was because of Kate that the FBI finally caught Neal. For once, I couldn't bribe or blackmail him out of it. All I could do was make sure that the bond forgery was the only crime he was convicted of.

... till the next chapter

AN:

First of all: Thanks again to my beta VoicesInTheWind. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I won't repeat this in all of the following chapters but it applies to all of them.

I think this story is a bit weird. But I had to write it. I flashed through my mind and I couldn't get rid of it. I had to write it down. It's quite different from my other stories so far. As I've told my beta, I feel a bit schizo about it. As if my other personality has developed it. Probably, these are harmful side effects from too much time without new WC episodes.

I try to post one chapter each day.

Finally, I don't own anything from White Collar. I am full of respect for the extraordinary achievements of the WC writer team.


	2. Chapter 2

Afterwards, my life slowed down. Neal was locked up and I didn't have to run after him on short notice. Even today, I am still in loose contact with Bobby. He's a decent man and he liked Neal sincerely. His children deserve the college funds their father raised for them by making sure nothing evil happened to Neal in prison.

Even though I felt a bit guilty, I enjoyed the stress-free time I could spend with my husband. I've asked Steven more than once how he could bear my infatuation with Neal. His answers have varied in words, but the message has been always the same: Steven loves me and he knows I love him. And even though I run whenever Neal needs my attention, I will always come back home. And most days I wake up next to my husband in the morning and fall asleep snuggled up to him at night.

After we'd been married for a couple of years, I felt haunted by guilt. I told Steven that I married him only for his money. And his only response was, "I know." I thought he got it wrong and I explained that I would take his money to save Neal's ass.

"Take whatever you need," he said. "Money isn't a limiting factor in my life. Love was, and you are giving me plenty of it."

Seriously. How could you not love a man telling you that? I never raised the topic again.

And now Neal's working with Peter Burke.

I like the tracking anklet. If only I had put one of those on him before! It would have made my life easier by far. It's really reassuring to pull up his GPS data online anytime. I don't do this all the time - I'm not stalking him. I hope I didn't give you a false impression. But sometimes at night when I can't sleep it's really comforting to see he's safe and sound at June's.

There's nothing like old friends. Don't you agree? She instantly offered to help when I called her. She sort of ambushed him in the thrift store and laid out Byron's beloved Devore as bait. As if June would give away that special suit to a thrift store. Ridiculous idea. It holds so many loving memories for her. But knowing Neal, one could be sure that he would take the bait. And he did.

After all, she's given him a home. There are times when I feel a tiny bit jealous that she lives so close to Neal. But most of the time I am only glad and grateful that he's found a warm welcome and someone to take care of him. I saw him once when he came home late. I watched him through June's front window. It was dark and he couldn't see me. Believe me, even after all those years I felt that familiar dragging pain. I had problems breathing and my head was spinning. Tell me, will this ever cease?

Anyway, I asked June and she believes that Peter Burke can be trusted. Her knowledge of human nature was always better than mine. She warned me against James right from the beginning. But I didn't want to listen.

... till the next chapter


	3. Chapter 3

Today is my birthday. Don't bother to ask about my age._The woman who tells her age is either too young to have anything to lose or too old to have anything to gain_. That's what a fortune cookie told me a couple of years ago and I have to agree.

This morning, I've got a very special birthday present. My husband gave me the recent issue of the Washington Post, a post-it stuck on the front that said, '_look in local section, page 2_.' It was a short article about the take down of several FBI agents in Washington who were involved in art crimes and had been busted by OPR thanks to an anonymous tip. The ringleader was a senior agent named Philip Kramer.

When I looked at my husband inquiringly, he cracked a smile. "I just thought you might be bored of all the jewelry I've given you over the few last years and would appreciate something with a more sentimental value."

That was partly correct. "Well, I really love your present, but I'll never get bored with the little Tiffany boxes."

That was the moment when he produced a tiny box with some exquisite gemstone earrings.

"Just kidding," he teased. "I couldn't leave these in the store. They exactly match the color of your eyes."

I got dressed for the function at the MOMA. It's held to honor those who have rendered outstanding services in order to solve art crimes. Agent Burke will be one of those meritorious men. Needless to say, Neal Caffrey wasn't invited. The MOMA is still a bit resentful when it comes to him.

The evening is half over, I'm a bit tired from all the small talk and my eyes have started to itch, as always when I wear my contact lenses, when, finally, the head of the NY FBY branch introduces me to Peter Burke.

"Peter, you should meet my dear friend. She's a generous patron of the arts and has helped to organize this evening."

Burke smiles at me approvingly, though a bit languidly. The next piece of information engages his interest.

"She's the one who talked me into letting Neal Caffrey work as a consultant for the FBI. I had some serious doubts about approving the deal."

Wow, why couldn't the moron keep his mouth shut? "I didn't have to talk you into something. I was only suggesting that it might be an unconventional but very promising approach. And you've always been a leader instead of a follower, making your own way instead of walking on a well-worn path. As we can, see you were right, again." It isn't difficult to convince him it had been his own idea to seal the deal and let him indulge in his own mastermind.

"Have you ever met Neal Caffrey?" Agent Burke looks at me with some professional interest.

Is this a trick question? I gave him my 'I'm pretty but a little simpleton'-look. That works usually very well with men and distracts any suspicions.

"I guess he allegedly has come into touch with some of the paintings I feel responsible for. I've seen one of his forgeries of French Impressionists and it was really good. I guess even Degas would have been wondering if he'd painted that piece of art. It's embarrassing to admit, but I do admire Caffrey's work - he's very skillful. I was curious how he would put his creative talents to use for the FBI."

Neal has always been enchanted by Impressionism. I was more taken by Expressionism. But we both could spend a whole day together at any museum and have tremendous fun. I remember when we were dumped in the Middle West and money was an issue. I'd rather wear my winter coat another year and save the money for us to travel once in a while to visit a museum or watch an opera in one of the bigger cities.

I've always tried to convince him that the pastel shades and pointillism were nothing but pretty and had no depth or meaning. He, on the other hand, was joking about the clash of colors and how expressionism paintings look like casualties of art. It was only the two of us, and we enjoyed our art trips.

... till the next chapter

AN:

Any guesses yet who's telling this story? Don't worry next chapter will unravel :-)


	4. Chapter 4

- Monday morning -

I left the function shortly after talking to Peter Burke. The encounter has made me maudlin. I even forgot to take the signed art print with me which the director of the MOMA bestowed on me for organizing the function.

Now I'm sitting here at my desk, reminiscing. I hear the door bell ringing but I'm not paying any attention to it. There are many deliveries on Monday mornings and my housekeeper will take care of it.

I'm surprised to hear the voice of Peter Burke and move to greet him.

"Behave yourself. She's a nice lady and probably you wouldn't be working for me right now if she hadn't convinced the FBI management to sign the deal. We're giving her the art print, having a little chat and then we're off. It wouldn't do any harm if you expressed a bit of gratitude or at least respect."

"And she said she admires my work, called it skillful, not to mention my creative talent, right? She seems to be not only a nice lady but also a very smart lady. I'm really looking forward to meeting her."

Damn it. I stop dead and lean against the wall. Tears run down my face. Steven sums up my desperate situation immediately and steps in for me without hesitation.

I haven't heard Neal's voice in years. And it still has the same effect on me as the very first time I heard it. The midwife had put the crying newborn in my arms and I started sobbing straightaway. All those months of pregnancy hadn't prepared me for the unconditional and abundant love I was feeling at once. One look into his blue eyes and I was lost forever. I gave a promise to whatever god was willing to listen to take care of him and make sure nothing bad would ever happen to him. I wasn't able to keep my promise. But believe me - I have tried hard.

When it became obvious that James was neither the devoted father nor the honest cop I had expected him to be, my life was shattered. We moved a couple of times - whenever the wit sec program decided it wasn't safe enough to stay. I didn't want my son to grow up knowing his father was a dishonest sleazebag. What good would that do to a young child? But I should have been the one to tell him the truth about his father, not Ellen. Only, I couldn't bring myself to destroy his fantasies about his super-dad. And that was wrong. He'd never forgiven me this betrayal.

"Thanks for delivering the print. My wife will be very grateful for your kindness. Unfortunately, she's not at home today. She would have loved to meet you." Steven engages them in friendly chatter and after a few minutes, they are leaving.

"Thank you, Steven. That was close."

His eyes are full of compassion. "Are you all right?"

Yes, I'm all right. The pain will ebb away and subside to a constant nagging. Back to normal.

A melody leaps into my mind. An old song I was singing for my little one. _'Love is a many splendored thing_...'

I will always love my son. That's what mothers do. No matter how much hurt or pain or how many sleepless nights a child causes, what they do or say, or what they don't do or don't say, all the sacrifices you have to make and the disappointment and frustration you feel - it doesn't impair your love. No matter how far away your child lives or how long you haven't seen them, the love is still intense and burning.

I guess it's just a cheap trick Mother Nature has developed to make the saber tooth tigress take care of her little saber tooth tiger baby to ensure it will grow up and pass on the DNA to the next generation of saber tooth tigers. But this trick is still working for us today. You can fall out of love with a life partner or fall out with a best friend. You never ever stop loving a child.

... till the next chapter

AN:  
Now, you know who's telling the story... I hope you like it.

As most writers I love reviews. You know what you have to do :-) But I have to warn you: I don't speak Spanish. I guess I can catch the meaning of those Spanish comments, but I don't get the subtleties.


	5. Chapter 5

- Some days later -

Another birthday to celebrate. This time, it's George Bennett's birthday. I've made a chocolate tart, his favorite cake. He is spending the evening with his FBI handler. I'm wondering if Peter Burke knows about the birthday. After all, it's not Neal Caffrey's birthday. He made up a different birthday when he created that alias.

But, of course, I will always celebrate the real day of his birth. Whenever I knew where he was living at the time, I sent him a card. It's the thought that counts. I know he's thrown them away unread. Bobby told me, and June, too.

I'm spending this evening with his godmother, eating cake and skimming through old photos. I've always found a way to send some photos of George to her. And here they are: George finding his feet, sitting on his bicycle for the first time, wearing a Halloween costume, decorating the Christmas tree - and the last one, graduating from high school.

June has kept them all. They were all lined up on her mantelpiece until Neal had moved in. But tonight she's dug them up for us. We have shared a bottle of champagne, June has put on one of Byron's favorite records, and we are talking animatedly.

Therefore, I'm caught off guard when I see Peter Burke helping my son enter the lobby. It's too late for me to escape.

- Peter Burke's POV -

The evening has already been strange enough. After we closed another mortgage fraud case, Neal and I went to a bar. He was in a self-pitying mood. Frankly, I haven't seen him indulge in liquors so ardently before. He wasn't choosy as he drank his way through the drinks menu.

I had problems convincing him to go home, and now I need to help him get upstairs. He has started singing. I was already thinking this evening couldn't get worse.

Junes seems startled when she spots us. Probably she hadn't expected her tenant to come home tipsy. She's not alone.

Wait, what is _SHE _doing here? She's not supposed to be here. And she looks somehow different. Of course, she's not wearing an evening dress and her hairdo is more casual, but there is something else. She looks timid. Why? And her eyes aren't grey like they were last Sunday. They are ... sapphire blue.

"Mom?" Neal must have lost it completely. No more drinks for him.

"Happy Birthday, George." The lady with the strange eyes smiles at him cautiously. She must have lost it completely, too. What the hell is going on?

Neal is whiney. "Hey, you didn't forget it. No-one else remembered it. No cake, no presents. Lousy birthday."

"Baby, I've never forgotten your birthday. Even though you never opened any of the cards I sent to you. But as far as I can see, you've made a party on your own. I guess you've drunk enough for two or three."

What are they talking about? It's not his birthday and she's not his mother. Did I really think I know everything about Neal Caffrey?

"Are you a dream?" Neal doesn't understand the situation either. Fine, now there are two of us. June, on the other hand, looks more surprised than confused.

"That's right, I'm just a dream. Every now and then you are entitled to dream about your mom. Nothing to worry about. Tomorrow, you won't remember me."

Probably he won't remember anything tomorrow, taking his drunken state into account, but I certainly will.

"I hate you. You're a liar and I'm not talking to you." Now he's pouting. The lady isn't upset, still looking at him affectionately.

"Yet I still love you. So, taking the average of your hate and my love, it's just indifference. Maybe for tonight we can settle for indifference. And I can do all the talking. That's fine with me."

Neal seems to be thinking hard with his dizzy mind. "Indifference sounds okay. Feeling something is sooo exhausting."

'Mom' helps to bring Neil upstairs. We have dropped Neal on his bed when she asks me to go downstairs.

"June will explain this to you. I'm putting him to bed."

I can't make up my mind. She gives me a sad but amused smile.

"Believe me, it's not the first time I've taken care of him when he's been drinking too much. And I won't be seeing anything I haven't seen before."


	6. Chapter 6

- My POV -

I help my son to undress and put him to bed. Even though he didn't want to talk to me at all, he couldn't make himself keep to his word. I won't tell you what we said or did in his apartment. That's private and I will store it in my heart. That's it, don't keep asking.

When I come downstairs, June has told Agent Burke most of the story already. But some facts are still missing. I will fill those details in because I've decided to trust this agent and give him the evidence to convict Ellen's murderer.

Let's take one thing at a time. First, he has to learn the truth about James' past.

Neal was still an infant when I became suspicious. Suddenly, money started flowing in. I didn't expect any riches when I married a cop. But then, James bought a car, all shiny and new, and was talking about moving houses and started bringing all sorts of unnecessary gadgets home. When I asked for the source of the money he answered evasively and advised me not to bother my pretty head about it.

One day, I overheard a phone call. He was giving away details about a planned police raid and actually warned the person to stay out of the gambling club.

Ellen had been a close friend. But she had made herself scarce recently. I tried to contact her to find out more; maybe I was just imagining things. But when I confronted her, she started to cry and stuttered something about being sorry and how she never meant to deceive a friend.

One Friday afternoon, Rico - one of James' senior colleagues - paid a visit. We'd been at his house the summer before to celebrate his promotion with a big BBQ. His two daughters were fussing around our son. Rico wanted to speak with James, but since he wasn't at home he talked to me.

"Please, tell him this has to stop! Internal affairs are starting an investigation. It's not too late yet; he has to see the captain to work it out. Please, talk some sense into him. I'm here as a friend, not as a cop."

James was furious when I told him. And we had a big fight.

Rico was killed in an ambush during his next night shift.

His wife and children were crying inconsolable at the funeral. James seemed to be unshaken. Ellen looked sick.

She called me the next morning to tell me she couldn't stand it anymore. She loved my husband, but it had gone too far. She would do the right thing and make sure that George and I would be safe.

I had already suspected that there was more between the two of them than a working relationship. I'd lost all respect for my husband already, so this revelation didn't come upon me unexpectedly.

They came for him early the next morning. George was still in his pajamas. All three of us were sitting in the kitchen. When James saw the police cars, he freaked out. He grabbed my arm and pointed his gun to my head. I screamed out orders to George to run outside and keep hiding.

James used me as a hostage to make an escape. He didn't kill me, obviously, otherwise I wouldn't be here to tell you all this.

But from that day on, I haven't liked guns. And I guess watching his father press a gun to his mother's head is the reason my son doesn't like guns either. Even though Ellen and I worked hard to make him forget all this.

We got into wit sec together, changed our names and stories. It might sound weird that I teamed up with Ellen, but I think James had conned her, too, and both of us had fallen into his trap. Wit sec was no fun, but it was easier having a friend at your side. We raised Neal together and had a rather good time.

Agent Burke is giving me a worried look. "So, it's probably not good news that he has recently been coming back to the surface?"

No, it isn't. He thinks Ellen gave the evidence of his involvement in several crimes to Neal. Now he wants to get hold of that evidence - by whatever means necessary. But Neal hasn't got that evidence. It is stored securely in my locker box at First National.

... till the next chapter

AN:

I guess Jeff Eastin has made up the history of Neal's dad completely different. But since he didn't send me the script for the remaining episodes of season 4 I had to make up the story on my own. All his fault! He could have send me the script :-) Or even better, he could have sent Neal over to tell me the story, or Peter, or - even better - both of them.


	7. Chapter 7

And I have evidence of James' most recent crime - which I'm willing to hand over to Peter Burke.

We have a very modern, high-tech telephone system at home. It's programmed to record every call. Steven had it installed when we upgraded the whole security system.

Ellen had called to tell me about meeting the Burkes, Mozzie, and Neal. Then, she said, "Wait a second, there's someone at the door," and went to open the door.

It was James. I heard everything through the phone. She pleaded and begged for her life, but he cut her short and asked for the box with the documents. She didn't give away the secret. I heard the shots that ended her life. I called the police, but they came too late. She died on the way to the hospital.

My good friend and companion of many years is dead and I can't think this through without tears welling up. _Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal._

We're sitting in silence and June is making fresh coffee. Burke will take the recording. He's going to set up a trap to catch James. They won't take any risks and Neal's life won't be endangered. The agent gives me his word on it. And I trust him.

All of that will cause a lot of emotional turmoil for Neal. He's still grieving for Ellen. Then his father will turn up and raise hopes of a happy ending, but those will be crashed brutally and irrecoverable. He doesn't need his detested mother to emerge and pester him. You need something to hold on to if the world around you is tumbling down. Neal's adhered to hating his mother for more than 15 years. If that is what he needs right now to keep him sane, I'm willing to play along.

We agree that Peter Burke and June will tell Neal seeing me must have been a dream. I won't leave any marks. Therefore, I'm careful not to place any lipstick residue on his cheek when I kiss him good-bye before I go home.

- Some days later -

James has been arrested. Neal was horrified when presented with the overwhelming evidence of his father's guilt. But he is alright and not totally shaken. That's good.

June told me he had a tremendous headache the day after his birthday. My poor baby. He asked a couple of times about me, but she didn't give away anything. Agent Burke told me the same. So, Neal has accepted that meeting his mother was a dream, probably induced by too much liquor.

I'll keep watching him from a distance. Even with his friends around, he most certainly will be able to get into trouble and then I will help to sort things out, as usual. Peter promised to stay in touch and keep me informed on Neal.

Finally, my story has reached its end. It has grown longer than I had anticipated. But once I start talking about Neal, there's no way to stop me.

Thanks for listening to it.

AN:  
... If you want a happy ending, it depends on where you stop the story.

Don't be fooled I can't end a story without a real happy ending.

Therefore ... till the next, and last chapter


	8. Chapter 8

- Christmas Eve -

When I came home yesterday, my housekeeper handed over a large drawing roll, which had been delivered by a little bald man. He'd left a message with my housekeeper that he would give me a family discount with my next purchase. She looked a bit bewildered when she delivered the message.

Now the drawing roll is in front of me. It has 'DO NOT OPEN BEFORE CHRISTMAS' written in elegant handwriting all over. I would recognize this handwriting anytime, anywhere. I guess my son didn't buy the story about me being a dream. He's a smart one, always has been.

I have a collection of fine art in my study. Every year, until he left, Neal made a very special painting for me. Starting at the age of eight, he copied a famous painting for me with just a slight modification. He added me and sometimes himself or Ellen somewhere in the painting. I am sun bathing in Monet's 'Water Lilies' and dancing in one of Degas' ballet studies, and I look really nice in Botticelli's tapestry.

Right now, I'm wondering what to expect is inside. I hope it's not Da Vinci's 'Last Supper' with Judas bearing my resemblance. Or me being killed in Bosch's 'Last Judgment.'

But it's not.

I recently hosted an exhibition displaying art works concentrating on New York landmarks. Right now, I am unwrapping a copy of a cubist painting we were displaying. It depicts Times Square in winter. Deviating from the original, there is, in one of the large marquees, a pointillism representation of Ellen, Neal and me. We are sitting on the stairs of the porch of our old home. Neal's sitting on my lap and we're listening to Ellen read a book. We did that a lot on lazy summer Sunday afternoons. In the painting, I'm wrapping my arm around Neal and one of his legs is resting on Ellen's knee. I'm wearing the same sweater I wore when I met him on his birthday at June's. I have to get my reading glasses to make out the title of the book.

I have to smile when I finally recognize the title of one of our favorite picture-books - 'Guess How Much I Love You'.

Maybe we will need to put an additional plate on the table for our Christmas dinner.

AN:

Ok, that's finally the end. I like fluffy happy endings...

Thanks for all your comments and reviews. I love to read those.


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